Abbas was a young boy who was seven years old when he left Afghanishtan due to the tailan attacks and violence, this is his whole journy of esacaping. This is Part one.
Dear, Dairy
I had woken up to noises of clothes rustling and footsteps, my mother slightly pushed me to be fully awake. “Up and pack your bag,” she says. I stood up tipping sideways as my energy levels switched on, I packed my clothes and a stuffed animal. Half awake I barely had my eyes open, I’m sleepwalking. An engine vrum vrum of a broken and simply old bus pulls up at my driveway peeking through the translucent window. Midnight when it’s chilly and humid both Dad and Mum throw on their jackets and head out the door with my siblings. I follow right behind, I throw on my bag and shut the door behind me. Who are these people I thought lining up by the bus, maybe it’s mum or dad’s relatives. I slept while on the bus dreaming of food, I was so hungry. The bus felt suffocated with so many people but I didn’t mind because I had my own little corner.